


Of Spies, Tiles of Fire, and Pop Culture

by Killbothtwins



Category: Chuck (TV), White Collar
Genre: A lot of pop culture references, And Bryce Larkin is a nerd, Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Chuck/Sarah, Neal Caffrey is Bryce Larkin, Seriously did no one catch what nerds Bryce and Neal are, Spies & Secret Agents, pop culture references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:56:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killbothtwins/pseuds/Killbothtwins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal Caffrey's biggest secret is not what one might think. </p><p>-</p><p>Or, Neal Caffrey is Bryce Larkin and that isn't even the most surprising thing about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Why are we watching this?"

Neal asked, forcing a hint of irritation into his voice. Mozzie sighed, as if he was ashamed of his friend's lack of knowledge in all things Tiles of Fire.

"It's a cult classic!"

Neal paused the movie as the main character drew the death tile to sounds of ominous music. June came in, bearing snacks and making some comment to Moz about her favorite sequel, but Neal wasn't really listening.

 

Neal had seen Tiles of Fire one, and two, and three, but Mozzie didn't need to know that. Neal had watched them all in college, one day when he and Chuck really should have been studying for their finals. Finding them in the back of a secondhand shop had led to one weekend where every single movie was watched consecutively, even the fifth, which was widely considered to be the worst, even by Tiles of Fire standards. Neal probably could have recited the badly dubbed scene along with Mozzie; "I believe it is your blood that will make me rich, farmer boy!"

But to do so would reveal his deepest secret. Not where he kept Washington's love letters (and yes, they were valuable, Mozzie). It wasn't the fact that he knew how to kill a man 104 different ways, and could withstand over 22 poisons. It wasn't even that his name was really Bryce Larkin, CIA superspy.

No, his secret, that no one in the FBI, no one in all of New York knew, was that Neal Caffrey was a nerd.

 

Not a geek, of course. But, even he had to admit to himself, he could definitely fit in at the Nerd Herd back home. But definitely not a geek.  
He'd told Moz that he could appreciate the fact that an original Star Trek dome lunch box cost 600 bucks a pop. He'd had one, at some point, in fact.

"Now say, I'll be back."  
"Thanks, Rain Man."  
Okay, so his references weren't exactly sneaky, but he had the whole secret identity things under wraps.

"Don't get them wet, don't feed them after midnight, am I right?"  
Mostly.

Chuck wasn't there to make that comment, but really, someone had to. He looked exactly like the guy. Neal imagined Peter in the tiny apartment, arching his eyebrow and pressing his lips together like he always did when he tried to Figure Neal Out. He continued playing, just hoping no one drew the death tile. It could get messy.

 

Still, Neal mused, sipping his expensive wine, safely back in his apartment after the day's exciting events. It wasn't all bad being a nerd.  
As the credits for tiles of fire four rolled, Neal sighed in happiness at the next hour of terrible kung fu moves, fire effects that looked more like smoke bombs than actual explosions (he should know, he's been in several), and memories of pizza-smelling dorm rooms and Tron posters.

Yeah, he smiles, it's not bad being a nerd at all. If only his brilliant conning mind could get him off work tomorrow to watch the Classic Doctor Who marathon that was going to be playing all day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on D.Rose's comment: "I would LOVE to see him figure out a way to get off work to watch Doctor Who marathon, perhaps his computer skills come into play, hhmmm? ; ]"

 

Neal, or rather, Bryce, was desperate. He had thought that he would be able to get home to watch at least the last half of the Doctor Who marathon on BBC America, but Peter had deemed the day “catch up on old paperwork day” as if he had something against Sci Fi awesomeness.

 

Bryce hadn’t seen Classic Who since Chuck had taken his old box set home from Stanford. Although, yeah, okay, that one was mostly his fault, he still missed watching Tom Baker run around tripping over his scarf or Peter Davidson eat celery.

 

Not like there was anything wrong with the new series (he was strongly considering buying a bow tie) but he had an itch for the classics.

So, his new problem. He still had an hour before the marathon started. But there was nothing Neal Caffrey could do.

Bryce Larkin, on the other hand…

 

 

Neal had been fidgety all day. Peter noticed him glancing mournfully at a royal blue pen like it was mocking him. He sighed. A bored Neal was not a good Neal.

Before he could take action to keep his CI out of trouble, he was distracted by a sharp ping coming from his computer. It startled him, as he didn’t think that his computer even _made_ that noise. From the hallway, Diana, who was walking by with her phone, almost dropped it as the same noise came from it. Peter was horrified to hear hundreds of other loud pings all over the office.

Swiveling around quickly to look at his computer, Peter saw hundreds of error messages pop up, one after another, almost too fast to read.

Each one said something in white ink against a black background, all caps. Peter had no idea what they meant, but he pictured some computer nerd laughing from behind his computer in his sister’s basement.

“CURSE YOUR SUDDEN BUT INEVITABLE BETRAYAL!”

“BAD WOLF”

“‘TIS ONLY A FLESH WOUND”

“CROATOAN”

“A STRANGE GAME. THE ONLY WAY TO WIN IS NOT TO PLAY. HOW ABOUT A NICE GAME OF CHESS?”

 

The messages flew down almost as soon as he made a move to close them. As the last message came up, the computer shut down and went dark. Then, so did the lights. And the heating. And the running water.

Conveniently, the elevator out was working just fine. 

 

 

Neal snickered, safe at home. Peter had reluctantly sent everyone home, no doubt thinking of the lost paperwork time. Grabbing his favorite TARDIS mug, he settled into his couch, burrowing into the blankets.

He didn’t think he had gone overboard with the diversions. Too much. After all, he had gotten to use some amazing references, his cover was intact, and everyone still assumed he knew nothing about the world of nerd-dom.

Just the way he liked it.

Just, he didn’t think he was going to be able to skip work for a while. Even if they were showing back to back Harry Potter movies next. Although, he did have a guy that owed him a favor at the NSA. Was Casey a Doctor Who fan?

 

 

By the next day, the office was completely fine. The way Peter heard it, the tech guys had trouble believing there was even an issue in the first place. There was absolutely no trace of whoever had effectively shut down his entire unit.

Neal had looked unusually pleased at the turn of events, though. When the sprinklers had finally gone off, he had smugly stood beneath an arch, his stupid hat protecting his fancy suit.

He had been pretty desperate to get out of the office that day… Nah. Besides, it wasn’t like Neal Caffrey would be caught dead doing something so unstylish as computer hacking.

Right?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on Guest’s comment : “Maybe you should do one where Neal/Byrce got 'sick' but instead he wanted to go to a convention (is that what it called the one where actors and fans get together). So Peter went to the convention for a case and he spotted Neal/Bryce and demanded to know why he there and he revealed he a nerd.”  
> Not exactly the prompt because I suck, but...

“Sorry, Peter, I’m sick.”

Neal whined, coughing pitifully into the receiver.

 

Peter rolled his eyes on the other end with force.

“And there’s no art gallery opening or anything today?”

He asked suspiciously.

 

He could almost  hear  Neal’s indignation on the other end when he spoke again in a scratchy voice.

 

“I’m offended that you would even think that!”

 

“Neal…”

“No, Peter, I’m not skipping work to go to an art gallery opening.”

 

Peter could barely make out his partner’s muffled sneeze over the line. Still not convinced, he hummed doubtfully.

 

“I’m going to tell Elizabeth you made me work while I was sick.”

The conman whined again, sounding more like a four year old tattling to his mom than a 30-something year old man.

 

Unfortunately, it did the trick for Peter. Massaging his temples, he finally relented.

 

“You get one day, Caffrey. And so help me, if I find out even a postcard is missing from the Met…”

 

Yeah, Peter is a sucker. Whatever. 

 

* * *

  
  


Bryce hung up the phone, victorious. It had been a couple years since he’d had to use the old “too sick to go to school, Mom” trick, but he thought he pulled it off rather well.

 

He silently thanked Mozzie for his contributions as he threw off the robe he had been wearing when he called his handler. 

 

So what if Peter couldn’t see him. It was called authenticity. 

 

Neal smirked as he pulled on his slightly worn pocketed vest. This was one of his better ideas. 

 

Now, where did his blaster go?

* * *

  
  
  


Why did the suspects always have to run? I mean, they always were caught eventually. Although, usually, Neal would have talked the guys down by now.

 

Peter barely paid attention to the building he was running into, intent on his targets. He ignored the furious security guards, flashing his badge at them without stopping. 

 

As he stepped into the huge, bustling room he had entered, he had to physically keep himself from groaning out loud.

 

A large, obnoxious red and blue sign above his head read in messy, cartoon writing;

“Welcome to New York Comic-Con!" 

 

Seriously?

* * *

  
  
  


“And so the guy said; did you try disengaging the external inertial dampeners?!”

The small group gathered around the  Firefly  table burst out into laughter at the end of the story while a guy dressed like Gandalf tried out his newest joke.

 

A man in an ugly suit (he must have been cosplaying as the Winchesters in their FBI gear - no way would anyone wear that voluntarily.) sprinted past them in pursuit of two other men, these ones both in leather jackets.

 

The temporary leader of this group, an unfairly handsome man dressed as Han Solo, pushed his way to the front of the little group. Bright blue eyes searched the crowd after the man.

 

“Peter?”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Peter might have been in trouble. These guys were way too fast, and unless the huge crowd of nerds started moving out of his way, he was going to lose them.

 

As he continued his fruitless chase, Peter bumped into several unwitting convention goers to many complaints, not all in English.

 

Who knew he would be cursed out in Elvish by a guy dressed like a sandworm?

 

Who dresses up as a sandworm?

 

* * *

  
  


Neal sighed. And his convention had been going so well. His tracker would reveal that he was at home right now, and he didn’t particularly want the conversation that would go along with Peter learning his real location. 

 

But it looked like he was going to need his help, as usual. 

“Scoobies, with me!”

 

He called, grabbing a Batman mask off of a booth. It didn’t match with his costume, but whatever. The things he sacrificed for Peter.

 

All of the nerds who had been gathered around him followed his quick exit, and apparently, his call had attracted quite a few other convention goers, who were now running with him as well. Peter was becoming more and more visible as Neal sprinted towards him with his band of misfits, and Neal prayed that his Batman mask was more effective than the Green Lantern’s.

* * *

 

It seemed, even though Neal had never actually said why they were following him into battle, the nerds were fully committed to their jobs. They even attracted more cosplayers and convention goers as they sprinted through the halls. Everyone who was in shape enough to keep up had made some sort of weird battle cry that sounded suspiciously like; “KILL THE BULLIES! KILL THE BULLIES!” 

 

Neal spotted Peter ahead of them, chasing the suspects past a thick clump of what seemed to be bronies. Peter looked frustrated in his attempts to skirt the gathering of middle aged and oversized men. The suspects turned another corner even further ahead, and Bryce grinned. 

 

He knew where they were going. He stopped abruptly, almost causing his rabid mob to crash into him. "To the lightsaber hall!!!”

 

An overly excited cheer sounded from the troops, and they sprinted to the room set aside for the duel later that day.

 

“Stormtroopers, block the exits!”

 

They did so, clattering into each other with plastic covered costumes. Neal had his eye on Peter, who was now looking desperately around the hall for the guys he was chasing.

 

Neal grabbed a particularly zealous Poison Ivy impersonator and sent her to Peter.

“Tell him where the guys in the leather jackets are, okay? Then grab a lightsaber.”

 

She nodded eagerly, running off towards where he pointed.

 

Bryce, with the nerds still eagerly trailing and chanting behind him, ran into the darkened room, picking up a glowing toy lightsaber and a glow stick to illuminate it.

 

Apparently, the leather jacket guys had the same idea, and one had a red dual lightsaber gripped tightly like a flashlight.

 

Neal saw the group behind him pick up a lightsaber of their own, a Buffy cosplayer picking up three and holding them out like daggers.

 

Neal suppressed a smirk. Being a nerd was awesome. 

 

* * *

  
  
  


Peter was on the verge of calling for backup as a girl dressed in some sort of vine costume ran up to him. She was panting in exertion, but she got the words out and pointed him towards some back room, assuring him the guy he was chasing was in there.

 

Not giving it a second thought, Peter pushed past three guys dressed like Ninja Turtles. To his surprise, the girl was still running with him.

 

“Like I would disobey Han’s orders!”

She shouted over the din of the hall at his questioning look.

 

Okayyy, then.

 

* * *

  
  


Peter arrived at a dim hall lit mostly by black lights and glow sticks. It was not dissimilar to somewhere one might go for laser tag, despite the bucket of what seemed to be lightsabers by the door.

 

Surveilling the room, Peter finally got an eye on his cornered suspects. They were attempting to sneak out a back door. He struggled to get there in time, but the giant inflatable obstacles got in his way.

 

A familiar-sounding voice yelled out a warning to the one closest to the suspect.

“Buffy, get him!”

 

A blonde girl with a cross necklace and a fake crossbow strapped to her back straight armed one, not knocking him out but sending him crashing into his partner and them both reeling towards the center of the room, where a stage was set up for speakers and lights.

 

Peter gave pursuit, drawing his gun and training it on the men, whose faces were barely lit up due to the lightsaber the one was holding.

 

“Freeze!”

 

He called, but one man on the stage stood resolutely where he was, gripping his sword (and really, Peter never thought he would use that sentence) and the other pointing his gun. 

  
  
  


Bryce was proud of his nerds, who still weren’t running away despite the very real gun drawn on the room.

 

He saw something out of the corner of his eye, and grinned. Watching the gunman carefully, he started scooting towards the door. Or, more specifically, the box of lightsabers that lay overturned there.

 

* * *

  
  


Peter needed to disarm this guy before any civilians got hurt. Why were there so many in there anyways? It was like a frakking army of nerds. 

 

To Peter’s alarm, the man was already tightening his finger on the trigger. 

 

However, he didn’t feel any sort of gunshot wound or anything, and instead, helplessly watched as his gun went flying out of his hands with the help of a bullet.

 

Now that he was at a disadvantage, Peter raised his hands as the suspect smirked. 

 

POP!

 

A loud noise disrupted the mostly silent room, and Peter was shocked to see the gun fly out of the suspect’s hands, too.

 

Mouth open in disbelief, Peter turned to see what, essentially, had saved him.

 

A curly haired kid man in a Nerd Herd uniform was standing by the entrance with a dart gun held securely in his hands. A pretty blonde ran up behind him, whispering something in his ear as he began to shuffle uncomfortably. 

 

“Right. Nerd Herd. Anything to please!”

 

With a smirk and a salute in the direction of a man dressed like Han Solo but wearing a Batman mask, he sprinted away, followed closely by the blonde and an angry looking military man.

  
  


Initial shock over, the now-unarmed gunman leaped off the stage, towards his gun, which was lying on the ground. 

 

A huge crowd of nerds swarmed after it instead, and it got lost amid a swirl of fake wigs, costumes, and tulle. 

 

Peter saw the shock on the suspect’s face as he attempted to run to his partner, picking up his only available weapon - an abandoned red lightsaber. 

  
  


He did the only thing he saw fit to do. He jumped up on the stage with him. 

  
  


As he did so, he realized how utterly defenseless he was. The suspects were both twirling their own lightsabers threateningly, and he didn’t have so much as handcuffs to defend himself.

 

“Hey!”

The Han Solo, with a surprising adeptness, tossed him a lightsaber, handle down, like they did in the movies. 

 

Catching it out of the air, Peter twirled the thing around until the glowing blue became nothing more than a blur.

 

Striking out, he hit the first thug square on the chin, dodging barely in time to avoid a lightsaber strike from his partner. How was this his life?

 

* * *

 

Catching another one in the stomach, Peter began to feel frustrated. It was two against one, and though he had never been trained in sword fighting, he didn’t think those were too good of odds in any situation. 

 

Feeling hard plastic hit the back of his head, Peter spun around again, realizing as he did so that the suspect he had previously been fighting now had an open shot to his back.

 

Surprisingly, he never felt it. After hitting his guy one more time with an admittedly unfair shot, he turned back around to see what happened.

 

The same guy who had thrown him the sword was on stage with him, fighting like a pro with his own purple lightsaber.

 

He sup around towards Peter, and for a minute, he thought the guy was going to hit him. Instead, he jabbed forward like a fencing master, and hit one of the suspects in the stomach.

 

Dodging again, Peter concentrated on his own guy. Whoever was helping him was clearly a pro, and used to fighting with a partner.

 

The two easily traded off, ducking while the other one hit a goon. At one point, the mystery fighter did a backflip as he used the handle of a lightsaber to thump one of the suspects in the back of the head. Watching him go down, Peter used his lightsaber to hit him on the back, effectively keeping him down. 

 

Watching an overenthusiastic Deadpool make the “turn around, turn around” gesture from the crowd, Peter hit the leather jacket wearing guy in the nose, knocking him out. 

  
  


Surveying his and the Han Solo’s (admittedly strange) work, Peter began to hear thunderous applause.

 

Every nerd in the audience was cheering, whooping, and whistling as if someone had just announced Firefly was coming back. He thought he saw some tears of admiration.

* * *

  
  


A man dressed up like a zombie cop ambled onto the stage, stumbling.

He made some sort of growling noise, and dropped two pairs of handcuffs next to the downed suspects with a clank.

 

The man who had helped him in the battle paused in holding his sword under his goon’s face in order to pick a pair up.

 

“Thanks, Rob.”

“Urghhh.”

  
  
  
  


As he slapped the cuffs on another unconscious suspect, pushing the lightsaber further away from him, Peter searched for the Han Solo again, meaning to ask him who he was.

 

He was gone without a trace, leaving only the suspect behind as backup stormed in.

  
  


“Who was that caped crusader?”

 

Peter heard a nerd from the crowd whisper, and fought the urge to face-palm. 

 

* * *

  
  
  
Peter hated filling out reports, particularly the ones where he had to explain why a man in a Batman and Han Solo outfit helped him duel two suspects with lightsabers.

 

Yeah, not fun to explain to Hughes.

 

Still, there was something eerily familiar about the way he had disappeared like a cat.

  
  


Neal was sick at home… right?

  
  


Despite the fact that he would have gotten an alert if Neal so much as stepped a pinky toe out of his radius, he wasn’t reassured.

 

He headed to Neal’s.

* * *

  
  
  
Bryce smirked as he heard the knock on his door, hiding the last evidence of that day’s activities in a hidden compartment.

 

He opened the door to Peter, welcoming him in a nasally voice. The FBI agent looked surprised but not dissapointed to find him there. 

“You’ll never guess what happened to me today.”

 

Peter groaned, inviting himself in. 

 

As Neal listened to Peter go on and on about lightsaber fights and the orange goo he had stepped in somewhere along the way, he let his thoughts drift.

 

All in all, it had been a pretty good Con. And not the kind of con Neal Caffrey usually enjoyed.

 

He had gotten a limited edition 4th Doctor screwdriver after the feds had finally cleared out, along with a plastic phaser to replace the one broken in what was known as the D&D Catastrophe of 2003, and the phone numbers of a pretty good group of cosplayers.

  
  


And Peter had no idea anything had happened. 

  
Good.


	4. Chapter 4

"Do we have to go in?"

Neal looked with what seemed to be dread at the looming New York branch of the Buy More.

"Yes, Neal, I know it's not your style, but I need a computer part. You're coming in."

Peter answered with certainty.

"Why can't you go in alone? Or we could go somewhere else. They have a new exhibit at the Dulcher gallery downtown."

The conman said hopefully.

 

"I'm not going to leave you in the car for an hour, Neal. No one likes to go to the Buy More. Come on."

Neal still didn't unbuckle, apparently even more wary of the store than Peter was, who tried to avoid the place at all costs. No matter what branch he went to, all of the employees seemed to be the same creepy people.

"Why can't we go to the gallery? You could even come with me."

Neal tried one last time, tapping his slim fingers on the Taurus's dash.

"That sounds more like a punishment for me. Besides, there's no way we'd make it before the gallery closes."

 

Neal perked up, if only slightly. 

"If we get in and out in 15 minutes, then can we go?"

"In a Buy More? Good luck. You're on."

 

Much to Peter's relief, Neal finally got out of the car, staring up and the building. He shook his head as if to get rid of a memory, and looked towards the doors with something similar to a man getting ready for battle.

"They're all laid out the same, right?"

He said quietly, more to himself than Peter.

 

Really, this was ridiculous. Peter walked through the sliding glass doors, greeted by the smell of plastic, vomit, and pizza, a scent that somehow made it into every single one of the electronics stores.

Neal looked out of place, with a nicely tailored suit among a sea of khaki and polyester.

He was starting to get a mischievous half grin that made Peter worry. Still, there was no way they could be in and out in 15 minutes.

The place was like a labyrinth, with no discernible order and lines that always seemed to go way slower than necessary.

* * *

 

The FBI agent started walking towards the computer aisle, stopped up short when he realized his partner wasn't following him.

"Neal! Come on."

Neal shook his head, exasperated, as if Peter had made a stupid mistake.

"Not that aisle, Peter."

"This is the computer aisle, correct? And last time I checked, I was getting a part for my  computer." 

Neal still looked at him like he was stupid.

 

"Of course, that's where they go, not where they are."

He walked in the complete opposite direction, towards an aisle marked Music.

Peter followed, because, maybe, he was a little curious.

"Wanna tell me why, rain man?"

"Everything in here is chaos, but it's an organized chaos. You just need to know where to look."

Peter opened his mouth for another sarcastic reply; this time a particularly witty one involving Dead Poet's Society, when Neal suddenly stopped in what appeared to be full of computer mice, which, admittedly did not go in this area either.

 

But the one part he needed was no way in this particular spot. Neal began digging around on the shelf regardless, handing a Hello Kitty doll, a couple CDs, and a microphone to him to hold.

Just as Peter was about to tell him to give up, he pulled out the part, covered in dust and handed it to Peter without a word.

 

Peter followed mutely behind his partner. 

"Okay... That was mildly impressive. But you still won't make the time limit."

To make his point, Peter nodded his head towards the still growing line, which now included a pregnant mother with two already crying kids, an old man trying to figure out a computer, and a teenage girl deciding on a pink or blue phone.

Neal bit his lip, deterred for only a minute, before taking off again, towards the Nerd Herd desk.

 

As they approached, Peter saw only one person there, a young kid with blond hair, ignoring the ringing phone and texting on his cell phone. 

Neal leaned over the desk.

"You need to open up Register 2."

The kid ignored him, scoffing at the request.

"You see, we have a minor code Pineapple."

 

The kid, now snapped to attention, finally made eye contact.

"No code Pineapple is minor."

He said seriously.

"No it is not."

Neal replied, equally as solemnly. 

 

"We'll get you checked out as soon as possible."

The kid ran away, full sprint towards another employee, this time a middle aged man, and pointed towards them.

Peter could see him mouthing the word pineapple, at which the other man dropped the sign he was holding and also took off at a full sprint. You'd think there was some sort of major disaster, with the way they were all running around.

 

Neal watched all this with a self satisfied look in his face, not even pretending he didn't know this was going to happen.

Within a matter of minutes, they were checked out, bagged up, and out the door. One of them offered to carry the bag, and one seemed to salute on the way out. As Neal expertly dodged a Yoohoo spilled on the ground, he grinned, nodding to the the Buy More employees.

 

As they got into the car, Peter stared at his partner, mouth agape. He checked his watch. 13.3 minutes exactly, in and out. It had to be some sort of record.

Neal frowned. 

"Thought that would go faster."

Then he grinned, turning to Peter.

"So, can we go to the gallery now?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the review by Qunis: “Does Peter tell El about this? How does he describe it? What does she think? Does she believe him (because Peter finds it unbelievable and he experienced it)?”
> 
> Set right after the Buy More in the last chapter.

 

“Wow, Peter, isn’t this one beautiful?”

 

Neal was gloating. In fact, Peter wasn’t even sure Neal knew what that painting was  of.  Maybe a cat? Christmas tree? Flowers?

 

“I’ve always loved the  Lovers Dancing  portrait, haven’t you?”

The tour guide asked wistfully, all the people around him agreeing heartily. Oh.

 

Peter at least wished he hadn’t left his newly fixed laptop in the car after the Buy More so he could have something to do. But Neal, who was peering at paintings with other rich people, was like a kid in a candy shop and should probably be supervised anyways.

* * *

  
But peering into the next room, Peter saw some sort of gallery made up of massive, ugly, melted looking metal sculptures, and he figured not even Neal could walk out with something that was literally bolted down. 

 

Ducking out with a look meant to shame Neal into behaving, Peter pulled into a private hallway with no more art than the signs on the restroom. 

  
  


Sitting on the warped blue bench and praying Neal didn’t steal any Renaissance art while he was gone, he dialed El’s number.

 

“Hey, hon.”

El’s sympathetic voice sounded tinny over the speakers, but Peter felt himself smiling reflexively anyway. 

 

“Still at the Buy More?  That place is awful.”

 

“No, actually. We got out in like, 15 minutes.”

Peter scratched his head puzzledly, the strangeness of what had happened finally sinking in.

 

El snorted with a little laugh on the other end, the sound somehow still delicate. 

“Okay, Peter, if you didn’t go to the Buy More today, you can just tell me.”

Peter shook his head, although his wife couldn’t see the gesture.

 

“No, really! Neal knew his way around the place-”

El was cracking up, like she had done after the unspoken “Magic Hands” incident. 

“Oh, stop, stop, it’s too funny!”

  
  


Peter, confused, continued.

“No, like he knew where the Nerd Herd desk was and everything! I think they had a secret code. El, I’m serious!”

 

His wife, trying to say something but hindered by laughter, breathed out a few words and hung up. 

 

Peter made a face at his phone and put it in his pocket. 

 

Rude. 

* * *

  
  


Meeting up with Neal again (and silently searching him for any stolen works of art), Peter tried to guess how his refined partner was so good at navigating the treacherous water of the Buy More.

 

Walking backwards so he could check out Neal’s reactions, Peter guessed.

 

“Did you work at a Buy More?”

“Ew, no.”

 

Peter huffed.

  
“Did you steal something from a Buy More?”

Neal looked to be considering this one.

 

“Neal!”

He grinned at him, losing the contemplative expression he had previously held..

 

“I’m kidding, Peter, jeez.”

 

“Did Mozzie steal something from a Buy More? Did you con someone who worked there? Did you-”

Peter was having trouble coming up with more and more ridiculous explanations, and had come to both  Parachuted into a Buy More  and  lived in a Buy More eating nothing but stale gumballs  before Neal gave in.

  
  


“Fine, we can go! I looked at all the exhibits anyway.”

  
  


Peter successfully fought the urge to fist pump the air, giving up his guessing game. Besides, his only guess left was going to be that there were international spies in a Buy More, which was just ridiculous.

 

* * *

 

Back at the office, Jones glanced up at the two of them.

 

“Oh, hey, boss. Thought you two would be stuck at the Buy More for the rest of the day.”

“Neal got us out in about 15 minutes.”

 

Jones, after he stopped laughing, didn’t believe him either. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Quinis' comment:   
> "Is this going to make the rounds in the office? Peter's pursuit of the suspects creating the D&D Catastrophe of 2003 must have at least reached Jones :)"
> 
> Thanks to everyone that commented!

“Come on, who put another lightsaber on my desk?!”

Peter half asked, half yelled to the office.

 

Neal materialized from somewhere, grinning.

“You know, you should be grateful. I hear those things cost a fortune.”

 

“How do you know?”

Neal grinned again, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, you know, Mozzie keeps ranting about the prices.”

 

Peter let it go, slumping in his seat.

“Seriously, the Comic-Con thing was like three weeks ago! Where do they keep getting these?”

“I think there’s a pool.”

 

Neal commented casually, leaning on Peter’s desk and examining the weapon. 

The sight of a lightsaber in Neal’s hand sparked some sort of memory. but Peter had no clue as to what. 

 

“I heard that a guy in a Chewbacca costume tried to hug you after you arrested the two of them. Is that true Peterrr?”   
Neal asked, drawing out the last consonant in his name for dramatic effect. 

 

Peter shot him a grumpy glare, taking the lightsaber out of Neal’s hands and opening the door to throw the purple monstrosity at Jones, who had been peeking in just a little too happily. 

 

The agent pretended to be offended, rubbing where the toy had hit, but both Peter and Neal could hear Diana cracking up out of sight. 

 

“Don’t you want to keep it in case you need to defend yourself against any more nerds?”

Neal asked, glad the lightsaber was already gone and there were no more projectiles around as he quickly ducked out of the room. 

* * *

  
  


It had barely been half an hour when Peter and Neal found yet another lightsaber on Peter’s desk, along with a little caricature of Peter as C3P0 giving the double finger point.

 

Neal couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit guilty.

After all, if he hadn’t been “sick” that day, he would at least be getting some grief from the office with Peter. Well, someone there might have recognized him if he’d had to go in with Peter, which could have been bad.

 

He pushed the lightsaber off of the chair but held on to the caricature and stuck it on his shirt like a nametag.

 

Wow, they had drawn 3P0’s face so wrong. He could have done better in the dark. Besides, he didn’t even get that new face plate until the third movie.

 

Inner nerd aside, he still felt guilty. As he examined the newest saber, he had the best idea ever. He felt his face splitting into a too wide grin, the one Peter called the I Will Be Bailing Neal Out of Jail Soon face.

 

Sure enough, Peter was regarding him with an expression of half fear, half curiosity. He didn’t need to worry. This was the best idea ever.

* * *

  
  


“This is literally the worst idea ever.”

 

Peter told Neal, just for the sake of it. Despite his words, he grabbed his coat and headed out the door, following Neal anyway. He was pretty sure El had a Toys R Us gift card from Mary’s baby shower last year…

* * *

  
  


Jones and Diana, army crawling past Peter’s office with not only an armful of Star Wars memorabilia, but also a new drawing of Peter using a lightsaber to fight off a villain they had brilliantly dubbed “The FBI Municipal Van” (it resembled a Transformer), heard the whole thing.

 

Rolling into the conference room, an impressive feat with as many lightsabers as they were holding, they barely avoided Peter and Neal’s exit. 

 

“Oh, that’s brilliant.”

Diana whispered, and Jones nodded. 

 

* * *

 

Bryce, of course, had been trained well enough at the Farm that he saw Diana and Jones outside, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

In fact, he could probably advise them on what to buy for the chaos that would soon ensue.

* * *

  
  


Peter felt the need to express his halfhearted concerns one more time.

“This is really stupid.”

He told Neal, who was crouched in a slightly uncomfortable position next to Peter under his desk. It was made no more comfortable by the sheer amount of equipment they also had.

 

Neal grinned brightly, his eyes shining.

“Come on, they all think we’re at lunch. It’s the perfect time!”

 

“That wasn’t exactly my concern-”

“Shh! They’re coming!”

 

Shifting his Nerf gun, Peter seriously pondered how he went from being a respected, straight-laced FBI agent to hiding under a desk with his con-man partner. Holding foam Nerf guns as revenge for teasing him about his lightsaber fight, no less. He blamed Neal. 

 

Despite himself, Peter couldn’t help his grin.

Diana and Jones, unaware, opened the door quietly. In the slight darkness, he could see the shapes of a couple lightsabers and… what was that?

 

Oh, well. Neal was already leaping with surprising adeptness, pulling the trigger relentlessly.

With something Peter refused  to admit was a war cry, he also jumped out, cocking the trigger in the little blue gun he had bought yesterday and shooting straight for the heart.

 

To his surprise, Diana cackled, not even bothering to block the onslaught of little darts flying at her. Instead, she pulled out a small, single shot Nerf gun and began to retaliate, dropping one lightsaber and sticking the other in her belt.

 

“Now, Jones!”

She screamed, and even as Peter realized both the fact that he was both still shooting at Diana, who was now shooting back, and that he was screwed, he was hit with a wave of darts himself. He even heard Neal’s little ammo vest he had insisted on buying yesterday get pinged with dozens of little darts. 

 

Jones had ducked out of the way as soon as the firefight had started, and now emerged with...what?

 

He had a machine gun, spraying wildly.

 

Peter ducked under Diana, reaching the staircase with Neal right behind him.

A cheer sounded from the office, and Peter looked over to see Agent Fawkes, a man who usually was the most reserved man alive, pulling out a bright yellow sniper rifle gun.

  
  


With a yell, the man aimed not for Neal and Peter, but for Diana, who had taken over the machine gun and given Jones a belt of what Peter really hoped weren’t grenades.

 

Shot after shot hit the agents, and then the office erupted into chaos.

* * *

  
  


Neal watched (and shot, he could do both) like a proud papa as every agent in the room unleashed their own guns.

He had to spit out a dart mid laugh because Agent Jessica shot directly into his mouth (no fair, Neal was like 90 percent sure she used to be a sniper in the war).

 

Somehow, Peter, Diana, Neal, Jones, and Agent Blake, the probie, ended up camped out in the records area. 

Along the way, Blake had acquired some sort of bandanna tied around his head, while Peter had an ammo belt slung across his chest.

 

Although he couldn’t see the opposing side (Ruiz from Organized Crime, Agent Allison, Samuel, and Wills), Jones was camped out on top of a file cabinet with his sniper and was giving out progress reports. 

* * *

  
  


Peter tried his best to pretend like he wasn’t enjoying himself as Neal ducked around a  Violent Crimes  (sorry) folder to shoot at a probie who was trying to sneak around the back.

 

Blake was feeding the clip of the machine gun to Diana, who had somewhere lost her shoes and suit jacket.

 

Munching on a pack of cookies he had found in the break room, Neal remarked;

“We need a plan.”

 

Peter agreed. 

* * *

  
  


Ruiz had no choice but to join in on this childish game of Nerf war. He wasn’t enjoying it. At all. The war paint was obviously just to blend in.

 

The bullpen had been noisy up until this point, the sound of triggers and cocking guns almost drowned out by excited yells from the agents barricaded behind desks.

 

But now, it was completely silent.

Burke and his little team had gone dark, not a peep heard from the records side of the room.

He glanced worriedly at Hughes (not that he was worried about this stupid game, obviously), who had painted black football stripes under his eyes in Expo marker somewhere along the way.

 

The senior agent was holding a automatic gun, the kind that holds a full circle of darts before it runs out, in one hand, and a small handgun in the other.

 

“I don’t like this, sir.”

He told Hughes, who nodded grimly.

 

“Burke is clever.”

He agreed, peering over the desk for a fraction of a second.

 

One of the newer probies started to whisper.

“Maybe we should-”

 

They never finished their statement as a small, cylindrical blue object flew in from the stacks.

Before Ruiz had made up his mind to go check it out, it made a small popping noise. Little darts flew in every direction, hitting almost every agent on the floor.

 

Shocked, Ruiz brushed a dart off of his collar.

* * *

  
  


“Now!!!”

Neal, the surprising leader of the war, screamed, and agents poured out of the stacks. They had found everyone not on Ruiz’s team, and now were unstoppable.

 

Diana screeched something that was probably Russian as another female agent rolled her and her machine gun out onto the floor with a file cart.

 

Someone let out a girly scream, and Peter saw Neal’s gun knocked out of his hands. Before he could move to help his partner, a blonde agent popped out from behind a desk.

 

Neal ducked for cover, diving behind a desk like a cat.

He pulled out a miniature dart gun from where it must have been tucked in his anklet, and shot the single dart right into the agent’s forehead.

 

* * *

 

Leaping away, Neal picked up the gun he had dropped and tucked the little one into his vest, grinning. 

Peter turned around to see Agent Rogers, who Peter had seen take out at least three drug runners with his bare hands, sneaking up behind him, wearing a crown of paperclips.

 

Peter raised his gun, but a single shot came from the direction of the archives to hit the Nerf gun out of Rogers’ hands.

 

Raising his hand in thanks to Jones, he met up with Neal again, who was backed into a corner, shooting small rubber bands at everyone.

 

* * *

 

Simply tossing an empty ammo clip away, Peter reloaded with ease and pretended he didn’t see his boss doing the same. Some things you don’t mention.

 

A ding followed by tiny footsteps could be heard, even over the din of the battle.

Although the door was pretty much covered in sticky, suctioned darts, and was impossible to see through, every agent in the room swung around to it.

 

When it opened, a hailstorm of Nerf bullets like never been seen before literally rained down on the person who entered, coming from every direction like missiles soaring through the air in graceful, precise arcs.

* * *

  
  


Standing in the doorway, looking shocked but not ruffled, was Sara Ellis.

* * *

 

A small dart fell out of her hair, making a small  ping  when it hit the ground, the only sound audible on the whole floor. Peter was even pretty sure that Blake was holding his breath, trying not to even make that sound.

 

“Well.”

She sighed, pulling a dart out from where it had gotten stuck in her earring and surveying the room, including Neal, who was paused mid rubber band shoot.

 

“I can’t believe you boys didn’t invite me.”

 

With that, she pulled a tiny automatic Nerf handgun out of her purse, and all hell broke loose

 

High heels apparently make very good weapons. 


	7. Chapter 7

Marge pushed her cart through the aisles of files, which for sure was more disheveled than when she went on her weekend vacation last week.

 

It wasn’t just that, though.

 

When she came back, she had found more things out of place than usual. A desk that almost looked like it had been flipped, a trolley from her section somehow ending up way over in aisle two, and of course, almost her whole roll of rubber bands were missing.

 

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

 

No, the worst of it was the darts.

 

* * *

 

 

The little things were everywhere, foam-tipped and out of place in the professional office of the FBI office. It seemed as if someone had tried to clear away the more obvious ones, but she kept finding them in the most random crannies.

 

There was one that ended up inside her desk when she came back. one tangled in a light fixture, and one in the refrigerator fallen behind some mustard.

 

She ignored them at first with a frown. After all, the FBI offices were a strange place, especially with that Neal Caffrey around, and she was really only a file clerk.

 

However, once she lifted up a shelf in the records department only to find about 20 of the little things rolling out like tiny invaders, she was done.

 

* * *

 

 

She marched up (at an appropriate time when he didn’t have any visitors, and once her hair was perfect) to Peter Burke’s office, ignoring the slightly curious stares of the other agents.

 

Marge barely afforded herself a perfunctory knock on the glass doors of the senior agent’s office as she barged in. He looked up, pleasant but expectedly bemused.

 

Pulling out her purse without a word, Marge dumped the dozen or so darts she had collected he first day back alone onto his desk, letting them spill out with little clattering noises as the rubber tips bumped into each other. She began to explain where she found them, and why it was so irritating.

 

To her surprise, when Agent Burke looked up from what she had assumed to be a very serious thinking face, he appeared to be holding in a smile. 

 

“-excuse me?”

She asked, more than a little impatiently.

 

Agent Burke bit his lip again, but Marge could tell he was about one second away from bursting with laughter.

“Is there something I should know?”

She asked, using her most grandmothery voice she could, pointing again to the darts for emphasis. 

 

The agent bit his lip harder.

Marge opened her mouth for a sound of protest, but a soft knock came on the door before she could say anything, followed by Agent Barrigan.

 

“Boss, what’s up?’

She asked, and Marge was about to tell her of the insanity that her senior agent seemed to have fallen under.

 

Until she caught sight of the darts, sitting in an unruly pile on the desk, like tiny missiles ready to go off.

 

* * *

 

 

“Miss Marge here… seems to have been finding these all over the bureau. She was concerned.”

Peter tells Barrigan in a choked voice, and Marge is glad he was at least listening to her.

 

Agent Diana glances at the pile of collected darts, then back to Marge. Then, she does something horrifying.

 

She starts to laugh. Small, held in giggles at first, but is soon joined by Agent Burke until the two of them could barely breathe. Diana points at the pile, then to the surrounding bullpen, laughing too hard to talk.

 

Burke is laughing almost hysterically, but he tries to be a gentleman and explain.

 

“I’m...so...sorry…it’s not...you...really...so...sorry.”

He says, in between breaths of laughter.

 

Marge watches with an open mouth, not believing her eyes. She’s gone one weekend, and this. 

Chaos.

* * *

  
  


She stalks out, scooping up the darts and talking most of them with her. However, the few darts that do end up hitting the floor that escaped her narrow arm’s reach make the two agents laugh even harder, their faces red.

Marge holds her head high, still carrying the darts as they drop with little  plink plinks  behind her.

 

* * *

 

She’s still miffed when Neal Caffrey later comes to pick up a record from her, navigating the aisles with surprising familiarity, despite the fact that Marge hasn’t seen him in here all that often.

 

Noticing her upset look, the good-looking young man asks her what’s wrong,and she ends up telling him the whole story with the darts.

He gets an odd look on his face, and hurries out, no doubt surprised by his handler and fellow agent’s loss of sanity.

 

She types on her computer, satisfied that at least someone believed her.

 

* * *

  
  


Peter runs into Neal right outside the records area, who looks like he’s about to burst.

Seeing Peter, his face screws until he bends down, gasping for air as he laughs loudly. Peter fights to keep his cool, until he spots a single dart lying harmlessly under a rack.

* * *

 

Neal doesn’t stop laughing whenever he sees Peter for a week.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a review from Guest: “Maybe you can do one where there is a hacker and Neal is the only one who can track the hacker down.”
> 
> Kajae, I am not sure, but I probably will reveal eventually. For now, though, Neal’s inner nerd will remain concealed for the sake of the story. To Peter, at least…
> 
> While I’m doing notes, might as well thank everyone else who commented! 
> 
> Sorry it's been a while, guys, but I totally forgot about this story!

Peter, not for the first time that day, fought the urge to slam his head repeatedly against the desk. 

Neal watched him in slight amusement, flipping halfheartedly through a file.

 

“One hacker should not be this hard to find.”   
Peter groaned, throwing up his hands.

 

Neal quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing more on the case they had been working on for the better part of a week. To be honest, Peter wasn’t even sure Neal cared about the dozen overly rich stock brokers who were scammed out of their money.

 

He growled in frustration, throwing a crumpled paper swan at Neal from his earlier attempts at origami (let’s just say, he was going to leave it to Neal for a while).The conman feigned shock, but pasted a more serious look on his face as Peter continued to flip aimlessly through files he already knew was fruitless.

 

“This one’s really getting to you, huh?”

He asked, blue eyes showing concern, although his hands remained busy as ever, tapping a pen and then playing with a blue rubber band ball.

Peter didn’t comment, flipping a page particularly hard instead.

 

He heard Neal slip out silently, feeling only a little guilty that he had forced his partner out. However, if he had looked a little closer, he would have noticed Neal’s trademark look- one that spelled out  Trouble , clear as day.

* * *

“Heyyy, CJ!”   
Neal said, brightly popping up to next to Jones, who, needless to say, was not pleased. 

“What, Caffrey?”   
He asked, only slightly warily. He didn’t think he was quite as threatening as Diana when it came to making sure the ex-felon didn’t pull anything over on him. As a result, he watched him somewhat closely.

 

Neal smiled brightly, showing his hands as if to prove his innocence.

“Hey, I just thought, since Peter was having so much trouble with this case, we might help him out instead.”

 

He grinned lazily, as if it was no big deal.

 

“Not gonna happen, Caffrey. I wouldn’t even if you had the skills to hack into something this complex.”

He told him sternly, trying not to feel bad for the conman, who was really just trying to make Peter happy. 

 

Neal snorted then - snorted! While Clinton fought to keep his face from going slack at the undignified noise, Neal peered over the computer at the code Jones had been working on for the better part of a week, trying to figure out the back door the hacker had used.

 

Despite Clinton’s protests, leans over the computer, typing furiously and fingers flying adeptly.

“Come on- I’ve been working on that- you’re gonna mess it up!”

The agent cried, trying to shove his hands away.

 

Neal leaned back abruptly, almost whacking Jones in the head due to the speed.

“Okay, come to June’s loft tomorrow after work and we can figure out who the hacker is!”

 

He says cheerfully, gracefully leaving as quickly as he came.

“And what makes you think I’m going to- oh.”

Clinton stops his rant at the CI’s retreating back as his computer makes a small, soft  ping,  as if trying to be as non interruptive as possible.

 

He glanced at the screen, only to see the algorithm completely solved, using a brilliant backdoor Jones never would have dreamed of even looking for.

 

* * *

 

Caffrey even showed his work. 

* * *

  
“Caffrey? You think we could get a lead off the hacker using the backdoor? Caffrey?”

Jones asks, leaning into the loft of the penthouse cautiously. 

 

Neal pops from out of nowhere like he sometimes does, wearing a tux and holding another one. He grins as Jones sighs and takes it. 

 

* * *

 

Eight hours, three ‘ but Peter really needs a break and we can catch these guys’,  one stolen umbrella and two incidences that almost end with each of them falling into the Hudson, and an uncountable number of bruises later, the two have a lock on the suspect. 

 

Neal makes a Nerdfighters sign over his shoulder as he leaves to go shower. Jones can't help but give one back.  


 

* * *

 

  
Peter is extremely grateful when Jones miraculously shows up the next day with a solution to the problem, along with a very specific guess as to the hacker’s identity and his location. 

 

For his part, Jones never tells a soul how smart Caffrey is. Besides, he promised to teach Jones how to do that thing with the computer.

He never would have figured Neal for a nerd. 

  
The two never speak of their little ‘adventure’ again. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the review by Quinis: “Oh I just thought of something! How does Neal get his 'nerd' stuff/information? And how does he keep it secret from the rest of the team (especially when Peter is suspicion personified at times)?”
> 
> Disclaimer: This was written a long time ago. I've grown.

Neal opened the door after the correct series of knocks (the Master’s drumbeat from Doctor Who) and looked around furtively, as if trying to spot any would be followers. 

 

Ushering Mozzie in and closing and locking the door behind him, he finally looked at his suspicious friend.

 

“Did you get it?”

He asked.

 

Mozzie pulled a large package out from under his jacket. “It was not easy, Mon frere.”

Neal smiled gratefully and grabbed for it.

 

“The Suit knows nothing about this?”

Mozzie asked, handing the sensitive package over.

 

“Nope. We accounted for every gap in our plan.”   
Neal held the package carefully so as not to disturb the valuable contents. Vaulting over the back of his couch, Neal checked out the windows of his balcony. Seeing no one, he settled in on the couch, waiting for Mozzie to join so they could enjoy their loot together.

 

Mozzie did join, handing him a glass of his best wine. It was a momentous occasion, after all. 

 

Neal slowly slid the package open, controlling his fingers so they didn’t shake. Upon seeing the contents, both he and Mozzie gasped. Men had killed for lesser than this. 

 

It was… an early release copy of Sherlock Series four. 

* * *

  
“Hey, Neal.”   
Peter greeted his friend as he entered the Taurus on the way to the office. Neal had sort of an awestruck look on his face, like he was digesting an impossible heist or had just seen a man jump off a building and survive.

 

The conman mumbled a greeting back, still distracted. 

 

Suspicious, Peter glanced at the back entrance of June’s, barely visible from the street but a favorite exit of Moz’s.

 

Sure enough, as Peter was pretending that the car was stalling so that he could keep a look out, the little guy snuck out the back entrance.

 

He hadn’t bothered with a disguise today; he had the same stunned look on his face and looked as if he couldn’t be bothered.

 

Pulling away, Peter vowed to find out what his partner was up to.  

* * *

Neal was still in shock from the season four cliffhanger. All either of the two could say for an hour after finishing their marathon were little squeaks. They had drunk almost an entire bottle of wine, but still, it didn’t go away. 

 

I mean, yeah. Neal knew some criminals and even some murderers, but no one so sadistically evil as Moffat.

* * *

Peter clutched the little container of homemade ice cream as he crept up the stairs to Neal’s apartment. El had had extra, and besides, it made a pretty good cover for the spying (er, investigating) he was about to do on Neal.

 

He had checked the conman’s tracker- nothing out of the ordinary- although he couldn’t track Mozzie, even if it would make his life a heck of a lot easier.

 

Peter eased himself up the stairs, making as little noise as possible and yet still knowing that the occupants of the room would hear him anyway. It seemed to be a creepy skill Mozzie and Neal had picked up over the years; they could hear his footsteps from a mile away.

 

However, a heated argument seemed to be going on tonight and Peter’s presence went unnoticed.

 

“But it’s physically impossible, Mozzie!”

“Neal, you just need to look at the layout I added here. See, if the wall was removed, he could have slid down here and…”   
“How would he move an entire wall? I still think my mirror theory was the right one.”

“No way! Wait- no, neither of these could happen because remember, there was a guy… here!”

 

During what appeared to be Neal’s shocked silence, Peter risked opening the door just a crack and peering in. Neal and Mozzie had a full set up in front of them- what Peter realized in horror appeared to be blueprints and a model of a room.

 

The two looked stumped, looking at one of their stand- in figures as if it held the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

 

“You know, I’m still not sure how he did season three…”

Neal petered off, rubbing his face.

Mozzie nodded, casting aside a piece of thread he appeared to have been using as a stand in for a harness.

 

The set up was beginning to feel awfully familiar to Peter… some show that El had made him watch at some point. He couldn’t remember anything else, and the probability of Neal planning a heist was much greater. 

 

Neal dropped into a chair, letting the stand in that the two had glued a mustache onto clatter next to a simulated security camera.

 

“It’s impossible.”

Mozzie muttered, wiping the sweat that had dripped onto his glasses off.

 

Neal threw up his hands.

 

“I freaking hate Sherlock!”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In my last update, Mozzie knew about Neal/Bryce’s inner nerd. In the first chapter, he didn’t. So how did this happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again guys, this was written a while ago. Don't judge.

Bryce knew he should have been exercising. Or doing target practice or surveillance practice or any of the million things a spy should do on his off time.

 

Instead, Neal Caffrey just stared at the TV.

 

He wanted to turn it on, to face the music of what was inevitable. but he just wasn’t ready for it. Last time he had spent an entire day sniffling over any mention of anything even remotely related to it.

 

But this time, this time, he was going to be a man about it. He had faced down terrorists, art thieves, kidnappers, and Sarah Walker when she had just woken up. He should be able to do this one simple thing.

 

Taking a deep breath, he prepared to press play.

Instead, he heard a thumping coming from the stairs outside his apartment. He lunged for the off button on his tv, but somehow ended up getting his foot tangled in the throw blanket from the couch.

 

He landed hard on the floor with a thump, getting even more tangled up as he tried to reach the TV and protect his secret.

 

_ Maybe he really should have been exercising _ , he huffed as he lay in his uncomfortable perch on the floor. 

 

“Neal, I just met a guy on the street who tried to sell me an Iphone. An  _ Iphone!  _ Did hanging out with the suit to much make me look like a guy who wants a-”

 

Mozzie broke off, squinting at Neal. Bryce folded his arms, determined to make it look like he meant to be tangled in a blanket on the floor in front of the TV. Mozzie stared at him, then glanced at the TV, which was still paused, taunting Neal.

 

“Neal?”   
He asked, not making a move to help him up. Although he didn’t need help. So Neal settled on widening his blue eyes to innocence as much as possible.

 

“Yeah, Moz?”   
He asked, trying to free his hands from where they had somehow been caught in the throw blanket.

  
  


“Were you watching Doctor Who  _ without me?!?! _ ”

 

Bryce almost denied it, but with a glance at the screen, still paused condemningly on the beginning of the eleventh Doctor’s regeneration episode, he sighed and simply dropped his head on the floor with a thump. 

 

Instead of being bombarded with questions about his newly-revealed nerdiness, Neal was met with another disapproving glare and a sentence he didn’t expect.

 

“Come on! I understand why you hide your Comic-Con tickets and your limited edition Buffy the Vampire slayer comics, but really, you were going to watch this without me?!?”

 

Neal was not surprised often. He had carefully laid out plans for his plans, and backup plans for those plans. So when he was surprised, he was  _ surprised.  _ “Wait. What?”

 

Mozzie rolled his eyes and huffed.

“It’s time to come out of the nerd closet, Neal.”

“The nerd closet?”

 

The shorter man settled himself on the half of the couch, pretending he wasn’t reveling in Neal’s confusion. 

“The nerd closet, Neal. Anyone with half a brain that isn’t clouded with bureaucracy can tell you’re buried under a mountain of action figures and cosplay in the nerd closet. Now get untangled from the blankets and press play on this depressingly sad Doctor Who episode."

 

Like a cat, Neal pretended it was his own idea when he artfully untangled himself, scooted onto the couch he had abruptly vacated, and pulled the blanket that had previously ensnared him around himself.

 

He hit play on  _ The Time of the Doctor.  _

 

And that was how it came to be that two grown men were sobbing into their wine over a TV show at two in the morning. 


	11. Chapter 11

“Oh, hey, Neal. Peter have you running paperwork for him again?”

Diana looked sympathetic, but not overly, to find Neal about two floors down from the White Collar offices. After all,  _ she  _ had been the probie who Peter would send on errands before Neal. 

 

The conman affected a wounded tone.   
“You know, sometimes I think he only keeps me around for this.”

He sighed, clutching a hand over his heart like it was the only thing keeping it from breaking. Diana grinned and punched his shoulder before scurrying off to do whatever it was she was down there for. 

* * *

Bryce dropped the paperwork off on the desk of an agent with an impressive thump. She raised an eyebrow at him with an even more impressive look of disinterest. Glancing through the top layer, she shoved it into a file cabinet behind her. 

 

Neal grinned, tipping his hat as he walked away. On second thought, he backtracked. The agents down here were mostly just file jockeys and tech nerds, and so their dress code was more loose than up in White Collar.

 

Raising the eyebrow again, the woman looked at Bryce as he walked backwards into the room.

“Is that a Green Lantern t-shirt?”   
He asked.

* * *

 

Five minutes later, the woman, whose name was Laura, a man named Paul who overheard the conversation, and Neal were in a heated discussion about comic books. 

“No way. The sentient math equation is undoubtedly the best green lantern. I mean, he could  _ literally  _ erase all memory of the Green Lantern Corps.”

 

Laura looked nonplussed by Neal’s assertion. 

“Dkrtzy is okay. No one can beat the Vulcan Green Lantern. Dude can communicate with the dead. Necromancy, man.”

Paul looked impressed but Neal was shaking his head. 

 

“That’s not-”

He cut off as he looked at his watch. 

 

“Aww, man.”

He said. 

“Peter is going to kill me. Meet in the break room at lunch?”   
He asked both of them, dashing off when they nodded.

  
  


Peter did not kill him for being late. It was close, though. 

 

* * *

  
Neal grabbed his lunch from the fridge, told Peter where he was going, and went to meet his new fellow nerds. Saarek was a lame excuse for a Vulcan if there ever was one. 

 

Paul brought new opinions and a pack of cookies to the lunch, which he gladly shared. 

 

The quiet break room, which had previously been silent due to the small amount of people in it, was disrupted by the door slamming open.

 

A burly agent from the first floor swaggered in. He ate a pack of chips noisily, then wandered over to Bryce’s table. He took a look at Laura’s t-shirt (lingering a bit too long) and laughed. Laura raised _the eyebrow,_ which Neal was starting to fear more than Peter’s, and looked him straight in the eyes. 

 

“Problem, agent?”

She asked coolly, not batting an eyelash. Paul and Neal tensed up beside her, all conversation to a halt.

 

“I bet you don’t even know what shirt you’re wearing, pretty girl.”

The agent laughed, getting closer.

Laura smirked. 

 

“This genius observation is based on what, the fact that I’m a woman?”   
She asked. Bryce winced. He had worked with enough spy women to legitimately fear them. After Katrina punches you in the face one time, you learn to shut up.

 

The man, however, did not seem to have the same valuable life experience.

 

“You probably don’t even know the exact date the first comic came out.”   
He said. Neal saw Paul start to rise up, but he pushed him down gently. He was pretty sure he knew what was going to happen next. He was right. 

 

* * *

“So…”   
Peter drew out, looking at the unconscious man on the floor.  

“He tried to grab you and then just...fell on your tazer?”   
He asked Laura.

 

“He really should have been more careful.”

Paul piped in. 

“Twice?”

 

Peter asked, looking at the man but making no sort of move to help him. 

“He was very clumsy.”

Neal added, earning a halfhearted glare.

 

“He should be more careful.”

Ruiz, from Organized Crime, who had seen the whole thing, said solemnly. 

 

“Okay.”

Peter said, giving Laura a pat on the shoulder and exiting the door.

* * *

 

Agent Roberts was given a week off to recover from some nasty taser burns and to attend a sexual harassment seminar. Strangely enough, the last anyone heard from him, he was reassigned immediately to Antarctica from a very high up source. 

* * *

 

Neal would deny having anything to do with the transfer or the picture he had taken while the other man was unconscious showing up in Robert’s mail. 


	12. Chapter 12

Peter sighed, taking in the small form slouched on the couch in front of him. He  _ hated  _ cases like this. The kid had witnessed his mother’s murder when she wouldn’t tell the robbers the combination of the safe. He had seen the whole thing, so he had to stay in protective custody for a while until the case was wrapped up. 

 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to  _ be  _ wrapped up if the kid didn’t talk about what he saw. He’d talk about anything else in the world, especially video games, but shut down the instant anyone talked about his mother.

 

The psychologist assured Peter it was normal, but it didn’t make it any less sad.

* * *

Peter, who was on this shift, nudged Neal, who was technically also on shift but had spent most of the time watching the kid play playstation or folding origami cranes. 

“Hey, can you watch him for a while? I have to use the restroom.”   
He told his partner.

 

Neal gave him a look, as if to say  _ I can watch the kid but don’t expect me to interact.  _ Peter threw up his hands and walked to the small connecting bathroom across from the room they were using as a safe house. 

* * *

Realizing he had forgotten his cell phone that he was using to make status updates, which was part of the real reason he had actually left, he poked his head back in the room to ask for it. The words he was going to say not only died on his lips, they took a small carrier plane out of the country first. 

 

Neal was slouched on the couch next to the kid, folding another origami crane. 

 

He didn’t look uncomfortable, as one would expect the impeccable Neal Caffrey to be around a kid. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He sat quietly, making his crane out of a burger receipt from Peter’s pocket until the kid paused his game to look at him. 

 

“Mr. Caffrey?”   
The kid asked, looking interested, but Neal kept his eyes on the paper he was folding.

 

“Yeah, Dylan?”

He asked casually, as if talking to a friend. Peter hadn’t really even remembered the kid’s name, nonetheless expected Neal to.

 

“What are you doin’?”

He asked, trying to peer over his shoulder. Finally, Neal finished his crane and moved to grin at Dylan. With an overly dramatic swoop, he presented the bird to the kid like it was the crown jewels. 

 

Dylan took it with about that much enthusiasm, holding it like it was a real baby duckling. Peter was just glad he wasn’t the one who had to deal with the kid. He would have had no idea what to do.

 

“You know, some people believe that a paper crane is magical.”

Neal said, not answering the question but starting another crane. 

“They think if you fold a thousand of them, you can have a wish granted.”

 

With a flourish, he handed another crane to the boy, who eyed it critically.

“Can it bring my mom back, Mr. Caffrey?”   
He asked finally. Peter saw Neal’s hands flutter for less than a second before he began folding another one. 

 

He had brought his mom up on his own, which the psychiatrist had assured was a good sign.

 

“Don’t you think everyone would be folding cranes if that could happen?”   
He asked, like it wasn’t a big deal, like he was discussing the weather or a new coffee shop he was just dying to try.

 

To Peter’s surprise, Dylan simply accepted the answer and went back to watching Neal’s agile hands. 

 

Neal finished his newest swan, a purple one made out of a paper from Dylan’s ignored coloring area, and set it down.

 

“Now what do you want to do?”

He asked, breaking the almost soft silence that had arisen along with their conversation. Dylan looked doubtfully from the second player remote to Neal and back again.

 

Neal grinned. 

* * *

  
The next time Peter silently slipped his head in to the room to check on his CI and young charge, both of them were leaning forwards on the couch, no longer affecting the lazed postures of before. 

 

The characters on the screen were executing complicated kicks, punches, and lightning bolts, by the look of it. Neal used his controller like a pro, using his character to fly over what Peter could only assume was the bad guy, some sort of enormous man in a gym suit. 

 

The kid was complaining, but not at Neal’s skill.

“Come on, why do you get Storm?”   
He asked, using his blue character to zap closer.

 

“Because I’m the adult, that’s why.”

Neal said, not seeming sorry at all. In fact, he looked rather pleased. 

 

Dylan grinned, executing a combo move of some sort that never would have worked in real life. Finally, the screen announced their win, and the two high-fived. 

 

Peter raised his eyebrow so hard he was surprised the two on the couch couldn’t hear it. Neal… was good at...video games?

 

As they walked around some sort of base thing, the two continued talking. 

“No, don’t talk to her. She sucks. Get the mission from Professor Xavier instead.”

 

He did, and ignoring the cut scene, turned to Neal.

“How come you’re so good at this?”

He asked, less suspiciously than Peter would have but with no less curiosity. Neal grinned as the cut scene ended and they started walking down a virtual street, kicking over barrels and leveling up.

 

“I used to play this game like every day for a year. My friend was addicted to it. He tried to convince me to go as Beast and Gambit for Halloween.”   
Neal said, smiling almost sadly. So it wasn’t Mozzie then; Peter distinctly remembered a lecture from the little guy on the actual Satanic rituals, and of course, government clones involved in Halloween.

 

Dylan paused the game, turning to look at Neal seriously.

“Do you know any other good games?”

* * *

Much, much later that night, Peter and El, who had come along to drop off a home cooked meal, stuck their heads in the room one more time. The floor was littered with origami cranes from all types of paper. Some of them didn’t match the usual crispness involved in Neal’s origami, and Peter guessed Dylan made those. The screen, replaying the pause menu over and over, showed Mario Cart in bright colors. 

 

Neal was asleep, leaning on the arm of the couch, with Dylan, also asleep, tucked under his arm. The little boy was holding tight to a crane, but the controller had long ago dropped out of his hand.

 

El stifled a little  _ aww  _ under her breath, but Neal stirred anyway. Looking upsidedown at Peter, he held out one of the only pieces of paper in the room not folded into a bird. Tucking Dylan back into his warmth, Neal closed his eyes again and dryly muttered; 

 

“That was a long bathroom break.”

Peter, looking at the sophisticated sketches Neal had helpfully labeled Super Evil Bad Guy #1, 2, and 3, didn’t agree.

 

Watching El take a quick picture of the slumbering conman, he thought he wasn’t quite gone long enough. 


End file.
